


Pergolas and Haircuts

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluffy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-25 23:59:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sandor needs a haircut.





	Pergolas and Haircuts

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a fluff piece.   
> Using GoT Sandor, so, yes, he has a beard.

It was useless. 

Awkwardly holding the scissors in his left hand, Sandor placed them back down on the bathroom sink. 

Staring at his reflection in the mirror he knew he needed a haircut. His hair, sloppily tied at the base of his neck, reached him past his shoulder blades, almost the center of his back. 

It was the longest he ever had it, but not by choice.

Four weeks ago he had fallen from the pergola now standing half-completed in his backyard, landing on his hand as he attempted to break the fall. A stupid mistake in retrospect, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

Only now he wasn’t able to cut his hair. And he needed it cut. 

Because it was a simple task, tying his hair and snipping off what he didn’t want, he never saw the need to go to the barbershop and have someone cut it for it him. 

And then there were his scars. The burnt flesh that covered part of his scalp, ear, and face, extending down to where his beard commenced. It wasn’t a pretty sight, he knew it. He got enough stares walking down the street without having to deal with a someone getting a close look a them.

He was going to have to go and get it cut, he decided. He never liked his hair too long, and if he was honest with himself, he should have cut it weeks ago, before the accident. But he had delayed cutting it, telling himself later, and then, after the accident, thinking his hand would heal quickly. 

Grabbing wallet and keys, he made sure to lock the door behind him and got into his car. Driving the damned thing was less complicated than he imagine. It was an automatic truck, old and rusted, but sturdy enough to get the job done. 

The closest barbershop was downtown, among the other old buildings made new by a fresh coat of paint and hipster signs, but nice enough, he supposedHe knew the owner of the place, Gendry, and only because he had contracted Sandor to build a treehouse. It had been a large project, the treehouse stretched over two trees and taking him an entire week to complete, but the pay had been worth it. He would say so had been the reactions of the children, that the joy in there eyes had been enough, but Sandor never liked children, partly because of their reactions to his face. 

Pulling into the side parking lot, he took one last look in the rearview mirror, telling himself that one more month, or however long it took for the doctor to removed the cast, was too long time and that his hair would get even longer by then.  

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and towards the entrance.

For a Sunday, the barbershop was surprisingly empty. Three red chairs occupied the space to the left of the door, one of which was occupied.

“Sandor!” 

Greeting him from behind one of the chairs, stood Gendry, razor blade in hand as he wiped it on a white cloth. 

“Came for a haircut?”

Wiping his hands on the front of his jeans, he nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Have a seat. Let me see if Sansa is available. Or if want to wait for me to finish?” Cleaning the edges off the boys hair, Gendry titled his head toward Sandor, waiting for a response. 

Sandor didn’t want to wait. Looking at the reflection of the mirror, he could he the reaction of the boy seated next to him, and of his parents seated behind him.

“No, she’ll be fine I guess.”

He didn’t know who Sansa was, only that Gendry’s wife was Arya, the spite-fire that told him to add the space for a fire pole in the treehouse, not caring when Sandor told her of Gendry’s original plans.

“Well I’m his wife, and if I ask for a fire pole, I expect a fire pole. Let me deal with Gendry.”

But if Sansa could cut his hair and be quick about, he didn’t care if he knew her or not. 

“Sansa!”

A muffled voice replied from the back of the shop, through the open door Sandor assume was an office. “Give me a moment!”

Tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair, Sandor waited. For Sansa, for her inevitable reaction to the sight of his face, and for the awkward manner in which he was going to explain to her the need for her to be careful with his hair and scalp. 

He was _not_ waiting for the tall red hair that stepped out of the room and took her spot behind his chair, a wide smile on her face. 

“Hello. I’m Sansa.”

Her cheeks were flushed, the pink the same color as her shirt, and her eyes shone, with excitement or laughter, Sandor couldn’t say. 

“So just a haircut?” She continued, looking at his face through the mirror.

The words got caught on his throat, and he had to cough to force them out. “Yeah, just a haircut.”

Pulling the tie from his hair, she handed it to him and reached for the brush on the counter before him. 

Noticing the way in which he tensed, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.” 

And she was. Carefully moving his hair away from his burned scalp, she brushed it back with deft hands, humming to herself as she did. 

“How much do I cut?” 

“To the shoulders.”

She nodded, beginning to hum again. 

“Your hair is really soft. No, really,” she added when he snorted at her comment. “It feels nice.”

He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t everyday he was complimented by a beautiful red-hair with legs a mile long, and wearing a shirt that clearly defined her waist. Hells, he was couldn’t remember a single compliment given to him since he was a child, before the accident. 

“Thanks.” He mustered.

He watched her work through the mirror, brows gathered in concentration as she snipped the ends of the hair with surprising speed and brushed his hair once more to make sure the strands were straight.

Looking up from her work, she caught him staring at her. Not wanting to look like a creep, he focused his attention on the painting hanging behind him. He didn’t know what it was, some kind of abstract thing, but he looked at it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. 

She didn’t say anything, until she finished. 

Holding up a mirror behind him, she angled it so he could see the result. “Good?”

“Yeah. It’s good. Thanks.” 

“My pleasure.”

Standing, he moved out of the way, watching her move towards the side of the room and come back with broom in hand.

Paying at the counter, he gave exact change to the boy seated there and left with a wave to Gendry’s good-bye.

Running a hand through his hair in the confines of his truck, he nodded in approval at the feel of it. 

* * *

 

He returned two weeks later.

Telling himself that it was his beard, he grabbed the keys of his truck again and headed downtown.

In truth his beard wasn’t that long; it was just the length he liked it, thick and barely reaching his chest. 

 _Yes, it’s the beard_ , he thought, running his fingers through it, the cast brushing against his chest as he reached up. 

But he knew it was actually her. _Sansa_. 

He had repeated her name to himself for the past days, liking the sound of it and laughing to himself when he noted the closeness of their names. And he felt like a greenly for doing so. He was in his mid-thirties, but still dawning over a woman as if he had never seen one before. She hadn’t even said anything to entice him other than being polite to him, but here he was ready to go and see her with giddy excitement

It had taken him three days to decide if to get his beard trimmed or not, telling himself it was only to satisfy the need to see her again, to see if her hair was really as red as he remembered it, or her eyes as blue as the sky, or if there really was no sign of horror or disgust on her face when she saw him.

There was always a look of disgust, of confusion, on those that caught sight of him, especially on women, and he told himself that Sansa had looked at him like all the other women because there was no way a beautiful women like her would see past the scars. 

Stepping into the barbershop, he hesitated at the sight. The place was empty, only the turned on lights gave any indication that it was open for business.

Looking at the sign on the door, he thought maybe they didn’t open on Tuesday’s, and maybe it was fate telling him to not seek Sansa out.

“Hello. Sandor, right?”

He was lying to himself, thinking he had remembered her wrong. Her hair was the exact burning red he remembered, her eyes the same shade as the sky, and the smile on her face was not a false one. 

“We’re open. I was just organizing a bit in the back. There’s usually not a lot of business on Tuesday’s, so it’s good time to clean up a bit.” She chirped when he answered with a nod and barely audible ‘right.’ “Sorry, I don’t mean to talk your ear off. Are you hear for a haircut?”

There was the same flushed look on her face as she spoke, cocking her head as she asked him. 

“Beard, actually.” He felt ridiculous saying it out loud, even if he had repeated the words to himself before his bathroom mirror, and almost told her to forget it, that it was fine, and he was just being stupid in thinking someone like her could ever be interested in someone like him. 

Almost.

Leading him to the chair, Sansa got to work. Asking him what length he wanted her to leave his beard, how to tilt his head, if he wanted her to clean the edges with a blade or razor, she said it all with a smile, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. 

“Can I ask what happened to your wrist?”

He had frozen when the words left her mouth, only loosening once he heard the last word. 

“I, uh, fell off a pergola. Broke it in two places.”

“That’s painful,” she said, leaning in to trim the left side of his beard, the scent of her filling his nose.

It was a summery scent; wildflowers, fresh grass and lemons. There was even the slightest hint of the them when she spoke.

“I broke mine when I was eight falling of my bike. Cried all the way to the hospital, mostly because my bother told me they would have to cut it off.”

She continued telling him about her many accidents; the broke wrist, dislocated shoulder, twisted ankle, and all the times she injured her fingers and had to have them splinted. 

“I’m not as clumsy as I sound, I promise.” She laughed when he commented. 

He laughed with her, feeling lighter than he had ever felt. “You don’t sound too convincing. I think I lost count of the accidents.”

Her nose scrunched up at his words. “They’re not that many. Did you finish the pergola?”

Sitting still while she cleaned the left side of his beard with the blade, he waited until she done. “The posts are standing, I only need to put on the roof.”

“And you like building things? Gendry says the treehouse is amazing, and even Arya agrees.”

“If Arya agrees, that’s enough for me.” That got a laugh out of her, and his own smile followed. “But, yeah, I do. It’s easy if you follow the plans and have patience. And it’s tiring work, doesn’t leave room to think.”

Curiosity spread on her face, head tilted as she regarded him, and he felt foolish for saying that. 

“Oh. And does it take long to build one? Or is it a one-day thing?” 

“For a pergola? I depends, but, yeah, it’s usually a done day thing. Two max, really.”

Leaning back to check the symmetry of her work, Sansa nodded.

“Why? Thinking about getting a pergola?”

“Only if my landlord lets me. But maybe I can convince Arya to put one in her yard. I spend more time there than in my apartment.”

Wiping off the remaining hairs with a damp towel, she nodded in admiration of her work. “All done.”

Disappointment flooded his chest, but he nodded in agreement, thanking her and paying exact change. 

“It was good to see you.” She called out as he left, and Sandor agreed. 

* * *

 

“If you don’t go out there and talk to him, Sansa, I will drag you out there and lock the doors.”

Jumping at the sound of her Arya’s voice, Sansa scowled at her, hand over her heart.   
It was the second time now that Arya had found her looking at Sandor from the second window, and each time a smirk was on her face.

True to her word, she had spoken to Arya about getting a pergola, and after the excuse of how nice it would look in the yard had failed, even if she had promised to pay for it, Sansa confessed.

She told Arya about Sandor, about both the the times he had come in for a haircut, and how she had felt like a teenage for gushing over him and staring at him like the last man on earth. 

He wasn’t classically handsome, nothing like the clean-face, blonde, boyish guys she was used to dating. And she liked it. She liked the deep brown of his hair, the softness of it, his height and the way in which he carried himself. He was manly in an outdoor, rugged way that made think of forests and flowing streams; strong and gentle.

Blushing at the thought, she never told Arya about the way she had looked at his ass, wondering if it was as firm as it looked.

His voice was deeper than she had ever heard them, and she like the rasp of it, the way it rumbled out of his chest with the slightest accent, and his laugh. Gods, she smile whenever she thought of it.

She had only seen him twice, and she felt like she could write poems and novels on his eyes. They were the perfect grey, stormy but gentle, and so warm when she looked into them. And she could never say that she did see his scars because she did, but she told Arya they didn’t bother her. The scars made him _him_ , and she liked him how he was, appearance and character and everything else. He was interesting, and she wanted to know about him, to listen to him talk about his life and dreams for the future, of his work and his passions. She would listen to him recite the phonebook if it meant being around him.

And she felt like an idiot for liking him as she much as she did. 

Sandor had not gone back to the barbershop since the day she trimmed his beard, almost a month ago, and she blamed herself for it. 

Maybe she had been too forward, she convinced herself. 

“What do I say?” For being twenty-four, she had no idea on how to approach a guy, much less a guy more than ten years her senior. 

“I don’t know. Ask him out. Just stop stalking him.” Dragging her out of the bedroom, Arya closed the door, locking it as she did. “Honestly, Sansa, you’re a grown women and if you really like this guy, than go talk to him. Gendry’s says he’s a decent guy, which is far more than anyone can say about all the one you’ve dated.”

Taking her advice, Sansa descended the staircase, going into the kitchen and setting two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade on a serving platter. 

Ignoring the kisses blown to her by Arya, she carried the platter out the screen doors with a smile and settled it down on the table off to the side. 

“Hi. I brought you some lemonade.” Extending the glass towards him, he took with a muttered ‘thank you’, deflating Sansa’s confidence.

It was Arya’s thumbs up from the kitchen window that pushed her forward.

“It looks really nice.” She commented, looking over the half-completed structure. The wood was a light brown, standing out against the soft gray of the house, and covering the paved space in front of the screen doors.

“Thank you.” The glass he held was almost empty, but before she could say anything to him, he reached for the pitcher, filling up the spare glass before refilling his own. 

Handing it to her, she beamed at him. 

“Did you talk your sister into getting the pergola?” He asked after she took a sip of the lemonade, and chuckling when she nodded her head.

Still holding on the glass, she took a seat in one of the chairs placed around the metal-frame table. “Did you ever finish yours?” 

“I did, almost two weeks ago. It took a while to get my hand feeling back to normal, but once I did, I finished it. It’s a slightly bigger than this one, taller, too.” 

She listened in rapt attention to him describing the structure, explaining to her the mechanics of building one, and when she asked about the view from under the pergola, he described the open field with few trees but plenty of flowers and the animals that like to roam across when his dog wasn’t outside to chase them away. 

“I should buy a house. The view from my apartment is the side of the building next to him, and my dog would love me more if she had space to run.”

“You have a dog?”

Sansa nodded, noticing how he had moved his chair closer to hers so that their knees were almost touching. They continued talking about the dogs, laughing as they recounted incidents, until the pitcher was empty and Sandor stood, mentioning that he should finish the pergola before Arya fired him. 

Carrying the platter back inside, Arya was waiting for her with a grin, wagging her eyebrows at her. “So? Did you ask him out? A nice dinner, maybe get laid.”

“Arya!”

The kitchen was near enough to the screen doors to where Sansa was certain Sandor would be able to hear them if he paid close attention. 

“What? It’s clear as day light at he likes you, maybe he doesn’t believe that you like him back. What with his appearance and everything, he’s probably scared you’ll reject him.” With a snort she added, “If only he knew.”

Grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze, Arya smiled at her. “Ask him out. It doesn’t have to be a huge, expensive date, just ask him. My yard won’t fit another pergola, you know.”

A knock at on the glass made them jump apart. With a smirk, Arya moved to the doors, throwing them open to let Sandor in.   
“It’s done. Want to inspect it?” He asked, eyes looking over Arya and towards Sansa. 

Arya gave it a quick inspection, commenting on the height of it and the color before thanking him and returning back inside. 

Watching his gather his materials, Sansa dragged the table under the pergola, adjusting the chairs that Sandor helped her with. 

“Would you like to go out for dinner?”

She didn’t think about the words, letting them out before she could change mind, and hoped for the best. Gripping on the back of one of the chairs, she looked up to Sandor, waiting for his answer.

“I would like that.” He answered after a the shock wore off, leaving both of them smiling.


End file.
